


Seventeen Miles

by JuliaBC



Category: Zorro (TV 1957)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5707879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBC/pseuds/JuliaBC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WDZ. It started as a simple challenge, a silly bet: which fifteen year old could charm more senoritas? But boys will be boys; rivalries can grow. Will Diego and Ricardo's game go too far?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SNEAK PEEK

Seventeen Miles by JuliaBC

 

* * *

You know, once in Los Angeles, I tracked him seventeen miles following a trail of broken hearts that he left behind.

—Ricardo del Amo

* * *

**Seventeen Miles Sneak Peek**

Ricardo rode up to the mission, dismounted and walked inside the little chapel. It was darker inside, and had that feeling of holiness. He took off his hat, and, after checking his hands to see how dirt-covered they were, dipped his fingers into the Holy Water fount.

He wanted to genuflect, but didn't think anyone would appreciate kneeling in clumps of mud next time they walked into church, and so instead bowed when he reached the altar, turned and walked into Padre Felipe's little office.

Thankfully, he was there.

"Buenos dias, Padre," Ricardo said, walking rather stiffly into the room.

Padre Felipe looked up from his prayer book, and a look of slight horror and shock crossed his face. "Ricardo! What on earth has happened to you?" He stood up, and hurried to the boy, quickly trying to brush out some of the stains.

"Lots of things," Ricardo said, letting Padre Felipe push him onto a chair. "Ouch."

"What hurts?" Padre Felipe asked, still vainly trying to brush away the dirt.

"Everything," Ricardo said morosely.

"What exactly happened to you, Ricardo?" Padre Felipe asked. "If you like, we can consider this confession. I won't reveal anything you tell me to a single soul."

"First, I got tossed from my horse in the mountains," Ricardo said, letting the Padre take his jacket off. "Then, once riding again, my horse tossed me into the tar pits rather than cross. Also, it so happens that the land there is Don Nacho's, and when I rode over and completely disrupted the herd of cattle, his head vaquero punched me in the face, and—that hurts!" He said, jerking away from the priest's hand on his face.

"He shouldn't have hit you," Padre Felipe said, a bit angrily. "You're just a stupid boy."

"It was my fault," Ricardo said. "And I should have known better."

"I can get these clothes cleaned for you," Padre Felipe explained. "But you have to get out of them."

"I know," Ricardo grumbled, and painfully removed his jacket, trousers, blouse and sash. Padre Felipe held up the last item with a look of distaste.

"I don't think this is salvageable," he said, turning it.

Ricardo tried to snatch it back. "It'll have to do for me to ride home at least," he protested, and Padre Felipe nodded.

"Won't it! Now take that blanket, and wait here. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

"What if someone comes?" Ricardo squawked. "I don't want anyone to see me like this!"

"Well, I doubt anyone will come. No one usually does, and two visitors at this hour in one day is highly unlikely."

With that somewhat reassuring line, Padre Felipe left, leaving Ricardo to sit miserably in his blanket, listening for any telltale footsteps, and to his utter horror, about ten minutes later, he heard some.

"I can't be seen like this!" He shrieked to himself, and listened. They did seem to be coming closer.

He looked around the office wildly, spied an extra habit of Padre Felipe's, grabbed it and tossed it over his head. Making sure to keep the cowl up, when the visitor entered, his back was to them and he was trying to tie the rope around his waist.

"Padre Felipe?" A soft, feminine voice asked, and Ricardo smoothly turned around, his hands still struggling with the rope as an excuse to keep his face down-turned.

"I'm a visiting monk," he explained, deepening his voice.

"Oh…You see, I want the Padre to hear my confession," Margarita Cortazar explained.

He thanked God it was Margarita, and not Moneta, for she would kill him on the spot if she ever found out.

"I cannot perform any sacraments," Ricardo explained.

"Oh, I know. But that is why I am here. Where is Padre Felipe?"

"Out back somewhere," Ricardo said, trying to keep things vague.

Margarita stepped forward, her hands fidgeting with her sleeves. "Is he returning soon?"

"I'm not certain," Ricardo said.

"I really just need someone to talk to," she blurted. "Please."

"I live to serve," Ricardo assured her, wondering where his idiotic words were coming from. "Sit down, and tell me what it troubling you."

"My mother died, four years ago. And I miss her so much, and sometimes I get so angry that God took her from me. But I know I shouldn't feel this way and I feel so guilty when I get angry."

Ricardo desperately sought words, and words of his mother from years ago floated into his mind. "Anger in itself is not a sin, my child," he said, taking her hand. "It is what we do with the emotion that becomes a sin. If we use it to conjure hateful images, it is a sin. If we use its energy to enter into a fight, that is a sin. But just being angry is not sinful. Jesus was angry in the temple."

Margarita nodded miserably. "There's another thing. I have a friend called Diego."

"Oh?"

"And I passed him on my ride today."

"Please continue."

"I was asking him some questions, and I think I was really bothering him. Was it a sin to bother him when I didn't realize he was so busy?"

"Of course not," Ricardo assured her.

"Well, you see, he got angry with me and said something rude, so since I hadn't known he was so busy…"

"You did no wrong," Ricardo said, before she finished.

"So he deserved it?" Margarita began.

"What?"

"I kicked him in the leg," she blurted, a blush covering her face.

"Oh, he deserved it!" Ricardo crowed. "I mean, a gentleman should never treat a senorita like that."

Margarita, reassured, patting his hand. "Thank you so much. This really helped me."

She stood up, ready to go, when he stopped her.

"What was this, uh, Diego doing?"

"Cutting branches," she said serenely, and Ricardo snapped his fingers in triumph.

Finally, he knew Diego's plan!

Padre Felipe returned, about ten minutes too late. Margarita was long gone and Ricardo had replaced the robe.

"I got them washed and repaired as much as possible," the Padre said, handing them back to Ricardo. "They should do for your ride home, if not much else."

"Muchos gracias, Padre."

* * *

After dinner, a lone rider approached the mission, going straight to the Padre's office.

Padre Felipe was boiling water and watching the pot, hanging on a hook above the fire, carefully.

"Don Marcos, what brings you here?"He asked, when his visitor came in.

"I was wondering if I could see the monk my daughter spoke to today," Don Marcos said, holding his hat carefully.

"Pardon?"

"My daughter, Margarita, spoke to your new monk earlier," Don Marcos explained.

"I really have no idea what you are talking about," Padre Felipe said.

"She came here to speak to you and found a young monk in your place."

"I have no new monk," Padre Felipe said. "I suppose one might have visited while I was out."

"That is a pity," Marcos said. "I wished to speak to him also. It sounded like he gave good advice."

"Well, would you try me?" Felipe asked. "I'd be happy to help you in any way I could."

* * *

It wasn't until much later that something dawned on him, causing him to drop the boiling pot on the floor and jump onto a chair as he helplessly watched his kitchen get flooded with boiling water.

"Madre di Dios! Not Ricardo!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo and Diego are 15 or so in this story. I wrote this 'sneak peek' to kickstart the actual writing process for it, and now I'm a few chapters into it but...it's all handwritten. So slow going on that front too. I'll probably start actually posting the story in a few months. My goal is Summer. To post it by June 21, or so, and have it done by September 23.
> 
> This story will be slowly (but surely) updated. And this little anecdote takes place in the middle of the story, rather than the beginning.


	2. One

Seventeen Miles by JuliaBC

Chapter One

When you've known Senor Del Amo a little longer—I amend that. When you've had the _misfortune_ to know Senor Del Amo a little longer, you'll learn that you must take everything he says with a grain of salt.

Diego de la Vega

* * *

In the shade of the morning, before the sun had its chance to get really hot, a lone figure approached the tavern.

He was tall and lean, with skin brown from the sun and a mustache whose color didn't quite match his hair.

The figure, Ricardo del Amo, reached up to adjust his mustache (again) and it came off completely, to his utter dismay.

"What am I supposed to do now?" He muttered, fiddling with it until he stuck it on again. Looking into the water trough, he examined his reflection and was satisfied with the results. "I could be twenty-five," he cheered, and made a mental note to deepen his voice.

Going closer to the door, he sucked his chest in and opened it, striding into the forbidden place with a swagger that would have made any commandante proud.

There were few guests residing there; the morning was not a busy time for the tavern and that suited Ricardo's purposes. He made his way to a table in front of the counter and slid into a seat, placing his hat next to his hand.

"May I help you, senor?" A tall waitress appeared next to him, hair pulled back into a tight bun. "I do not think I have seen you around here before. My, what a striking mustache!"

"Gracias," Ricardo said, about to stroke it but then thought better of it and his hand went to sweep through his hair instead. "I am new in Los Angeles. I come here from..." He halted for a moment, not daring to say San Francisco. "Mexico City. On the boat. I am visiting the de la Vegas."

"Really?" The waitress asked, plonking a hand on her hip.

"Clara, what are you doing over there?" The innkeeper, who Ricardo knew to be Teo, called over. "Just let the vaquero order already!"

Ricardo smirked, glad to see that his plan was working.

Clara, however, sat down across from Ricardo. "I'd like some news of the ship. It must have been the _Santa_ _Isabella_ if you came from Mexico City."

"Of course," Ricardo said without blinking to show his panic. "It's a very large ship, you know. Uh, the deck stretches so wide you can't see from one end to the other."

"Oh, of course," she agreed, her eyes becoming suspicious and sweeping over him. He was grateful, not for the first or last time, for his early growth spurt as the doubt slid from her face.

"May I have a glass of your best wine?" Ricardo asked cautiously.

"You know, the Commandante usually comes along about now," Clara said casually. "He'll be inquiring as to your business, Senor. I'd be careful to prepare a better story for him than you gave me. Our best wine," she mocked, standing up and hurrying behind the counter.

Ricardo sat there in silence, wondering if Clara had just saved him or dug his hole deeper.

The door to the tavern opened and Ricardo flinched, glancing to see if it was the Commandante coming in now, and his eyes widened. No, it wasn't Capitan Especia, but worse!

Don Alejandro was walking in, leading an elderly don whose slow steps required a cane to keep him steady. "Don Luz, please sit down and let me fetch some brandy to, er, invigorate you."

"I do not prefer brandy," Don Luz replied. "But considering my fall, perhaps it is best."

"Si," Don Alejandro said.

Clara came sweeping from the kitchen, and almost collided with Don Alejandro when she swept past the counter. "Your pardon, Don Alejandro. Eh, why don't you join your guest?"

"Pardon?" Don Alejandro asked.

She jutted her chin towards Ricardo as she set the glass down in front of him. "Him."

"I do not think I even know the man," Don Alejandro exclaimed and then stepped closer. "Your pardon, but..."

Ricardo hastily took a gulp of wine to hide his face and before it would be too late. Alejandro's eyes were already widening in recognition.

"Ricardo del Amo!"

"My middle name is Tomas," Ricardo offered meekly, before being thrown from the premises and taken to the de la Vega hacienda in disgrace.

* * *

Once arrived, Don Alejandro sent him up to Diego's room. "I have guests already," he said. "The de la Torres' have only a few days left in their visit. I'll take care of you later."

Ricardo jogged up the stairs, glad to have put off his reprieve a little while longer. He banged on the door and waited impatiently for it to open.

"Diego, it's me!" He bellowed, and, after another long moment that grated on his nerves, the door swung open.

"Oh, you aren't dressed?" Ricardo asked. "Your father said you were going with the de la Torres'."

"My mind was, unfortunately, on other things," Diego said, swinging around and heading to the dresser. "I only miss my sash."

"That's a rather shabby suit," Ricardo commented and Diego frowned at it in his mirror.

"We're going for a walk down by the water," Diego said. "I did not find my best clothes needed."

"Why are you spending so much time with them?" Ricardo asked in frustration. "I've been here twice as long already and you have spent double the hours with them! It's making for quite a dull summer."

"I like spending time with Constancia," Diego said frankly. "And it's only polite, after all. They will only be here a few more days, and it's been much longer since I've seen them."

That Diego would want to spend his time with Constancia frankly puzzled Ricardo. Though girls had recently started to interest him in ways they definitely hadn't before, they still held little more value to him than something to boast about.

But—if that was the way to get Diego to 'play', he'd go along...

"I'll make you a bet," Ricardo said, breaking the silence.

Diego looked up from where he was trying to tie his sash. "I told you, I won't have time while the de la Torres family is here."

"This has to do with that," Ricardo soothed.

"How?" Diego asked warily, biting his lip in concentration as he used the mirror to aid him in making the knot.

Ricardo flopped backwards onto Diego's bed. "I'll be here all summer, and Constancia won't. So here I make this a contest. The one of us who has succeeded in making the most girls fall in love with us by the end of my visit wins."

To Ricardo's immense relief, Diego finally looked interested.

"Wins what?"

Since Ricardo really only wanted to play his game for the sake of the game, he shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Something important to both of us."

Diego finished with his sash. "Like Rojo Carmen?"

At the thought of the fastest mare in Los Angeles, Ricardo realized that Diego had hit upon the perfect prize to up the stakes, so to speak.

Standing up, he went over to the mirror and stood behind Diego, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulders. Ricardo was brown and lean; Diego was dark and more obviously muscular, though Ricardo was still taller than his friend. "I think that Rojo Carmen is the perfect touch to make this more exciting," he said, his teeth flashing.

Diego looked at Ricardo in the mirror, and got a devilish smile of his own. "And I have a head start," he said slyly, slipped from beneath Ricardo's arm and put his hand on the doorknob. "Constancia is already half in love with me. Just think how easy it will be to make her fall the other half!"

* * *

Diego was unfortunately right that he had a head start, for Ricardo had forgotten that he was only at the de la Vega hacienda awaiting punishment.

Soon after Diego went off with the de la Torres' and Don Alejandro stayed behind to wait with Ricardo for his uncle to come and fetch him.

"You really don't have to stay behind with me, Don Alejandro," Ricardo urged. "I can wait here alone for Uncle Felipe."

"No, you cannot," Don Alejandro said. "For you are not to be trusted, as this morning's encounter in the tavern proved."

"That's different," Ricardo protested. "I just wanted some wine. There is nothing about that to suggest that I would not keep my word to stay here if I were to make it."

"Yes, if you were to make it," Don Alejandro repeated, his eyes narrowing. "I need to speak with him anyway."

"But I don't want to wait in here all afternoon," Ricardo complained as Don Alejandro carefully placed his glasses onto his nose and picked up one of the papers on his desk.

"You need to catch up with Diego in your literature," Alejandro said, perusing the letter from Ricardo's parents and Ricardo regretted giving it to him. "Shakespeare especially."

"But I've read all of the interesting plays," Ricardo said. "King John, King Henry, King Richard, Coriolanus, Hamlet, Macbeth, Julius Caesar..."

"Just the interesting ones?" Don Alejandro chuckled. "Then I have the perfect play for you." He stood up and went over to the bookshelf, carefully running his finger over the books until he found the right one. "Aha! Here we are, Ricardo. Romeo and Juliet."

Ricardo's jaw dropped. "But that's a romance!" He spluttered. "There's a reason I didn't read that one."

"There is plenty of other intrigue," Don Alejandro reprimanded and Ricardo flushed.

"I'm sorry for being ungrateful," he said, following Don Alejandro out from the study to the patio.

"Good," Don Alejandro said, cutting him off. "But I do understand your reluctance. Believe me, Ricardo, this play will satisfy your requirements for interesting!"

Ricardo took it with a sigh and was immensely relieved when a figure entered through the gate.

"Padre Felipe, here is the wayward nephew," Don Alejandro said. "I have kept him here until someone came to escort him to his aunt's hacienda."

Padre Felipe responded by taking off his hat. "Your pardon, Don Alejandro, but I came here quickly and I am quite parched."

"Of course," Don Alejandro said, urged the Padre to be seated and hurried off to find a servant.

Once alone with Ricardo, Padre Felipe pierced Ricardo with his clear eyes. "Ricardo, why am I getting reports of you trying to sneak into the tavern?"

"Because they are true," Ricardo said cheerfully, plopping down next to the Padre. "But I must correct something: I didn't try; I succeeded."

" _San Jose,_ help me," Padre Felipe muttered, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Ricardo, do you understand that you are not supposed to be in there?"

"That's why I had to sneak," Ricardo said, his pretended obtuseness gaining him no favor in Padre Felipe's estimation.

"They said you were a renegade, but I didn't think they meant it," Pade Felipe said, finally letting himself laugh. "Oh, Ricardo, what shall we do with you for the rest of your visit?"

"Let me into the tavern?" Ricardo suggested.

"That was a good try," Padre Felipe answered. "And it almost sounds like good advice. But I am not sure I am ready to make a drunkard of Don Ricardo's son quite yet."

"That's unfortunate," Ricardo said. "You have wine at the mission, si? Perhaps I could sample it."

"The communion wine?" Felipe asked dryly. "I don't think so, Ricardo. Don't you have other things on your mind?"

"A few," Ricardo mused. "Let's see. Adventure is out for now, because Diego is so deucedly busy with his guests."

"Make your own adventure," Felipe said.

"I already do that at home," Ricardo complained. "Why come here if I am not to have ready-made fun and excitement? No, as usual, I must make my own."

"You already have something up your sleeve, don't you?" Padre Felipe said. "You're getting that look on your face. I think I'd better get you out of here before Don Alejandro returns with some wine."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Padre Felipe is Ricardo's uncle in this story, but I'm leaving it vague enough that if you disagree with the idea, it won't interfere with your enjoyment of the story. It's an idea I'm fond of, but if you don't like it, don't take it. (And it has no basis in the show).


End file.
